


Sweet Meats

by Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bad Touch, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Cannibalism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8761021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog/pseuds/Killer_Rabbit_of_Caerbannog
Summary: Graves wants Credence's trust. Dinner seems like a good place to start.





	

Percival Graves has lovely hands.

Credence flinches, even though his mother is not here to see, cannot know his thoughts as he watches those hands. It is wrong, to think a man was beautiful. But those hands that draw him closer are beautiful, and Credence can't help but admire them.

"You're too thin," Graves says softly, hands on his shoulders so he can peer into Credence's face, worried gaze shifting into a wane smile when Credence ducks his head away. He can't bear it, to see that gaze directed at him - can't handle that warm look in those eyes. Instead he watches those hands, that flick that ebony wand and make the welts disappear, that wield magic with the smallest twitch of those slender fingers. Those hands tell him without words that he is safe.

His eyes follow those lovely hands as they slide down his arms, curling around his elbows, tugging close.

"Come on," says Graves, slipping his hand around Credence, pressing softly into the dip of his back. "You need to eat. There's a place nearby that makes excellent-"

Credence flinches away, but the warm hand doesn't leave the small of his back. "I can't,  _ can't _ ," Credence chokes, fear turning his voice into a high whine. "If they see, they'll tell and she will be so-  _ she can't know! _ "

He ducks his head, can't bear to see that disappointment that's sure to come, but his eyes helplessly seek out those hands. They aren't clenched, hand loose and easy by his side, and there's pressure against his hip that draws him close, closer, until that black woollen cloak slides his cheek.

Cool fingers run along his jaw, cups it, calloused thumb brushing the swell beneath his lip. Credence can't stop shivering, something twisted and shadow dark curling deep within him as warm breath dampens his flesh.

"It's alright now, Credence," Graves tells him, whisper soft, each word mouthed against his skin. "I won't let them take you from me. You  _ know _ I need you. You are very special, you will help me find this child. You and I, we are bound by fate. Soon, we will be together in the wizarding world, and no one will be able to hurt you. Haven't I promised this to you? They can try to hinder you, stand in your way, but you will rise above them all. And _ I _ will make sure you are safe."

Graves steps back, and Credence sways after him, wanting, but the words, the desire, curdles in his mind and mouth before they can be realised.

He nods instead, pushes out a mumbled, "I know." His reward is that touch back, fingers brushing the soft hollow of his throat.

"They won't notice us," Graves says, twirling his wand. "Not if you don't want them to. No one will. A simple spell. We won't be disturbed."

Credence says nothing, letting the warmth of Graves' magic wash over him. Deep inside, the darkness stirs in response.

 

\---

 

The inside of the bar is crowded, witches and wizards lounging in boothes, others on the dance floor swaying in time with the goblin band, but none seemed to notice the pair in the corner.

Credence watches this out of the corner of his eye, unable to hide his awe when all eyes slide over them without a flicker of awareness. Graves smirks, pleased at the admiration, even if the boy showed the same wonder when the grimy glasses on the bar began cleaning themselves. The charm is a tweak of the muggle repelling spell, his own invention, to work on the magical community. Even their own magic couldn't guard them from their own wilful ignorance. It would lead to their downfall, that blind belief in their own power, when all the while they cowered in fear from the muggle filth.

_ 'No-maj _ ', he reminds himself, unable to stop his sneer at the strange slang. It was strange, this country. His skin itches, the desire to simply leave always strong when he ventures into the hidden niches of the magical community here. So repressed, so afraid, as though memories still stretched back to those early days in Salem, that time of blood and fear that still held sway. How foolish they are, the MACUSA, still terrified of this land seeped in magic, so ready to persecute their own kind for fear of the ‘ _ No-Maj _ ,’ ready to wallow in the shadows. The bottle of water on their table wobbles, and Graves breaths, long and slow, forcing calm into the erratic tendrils of his magic.

Control is harder, with Credence. Something about the boy calls to him, makes his blood sing, and Graves isn't a cruel man, but when the boy cowers from him, a wounded dog, he can't help but offer comfort. Because there's something there, something that Graves wants to break, to destroy, a memory, that there's magical blood in the boy, but it doesn't show, a Squib brat with no power. He grits his teeth at the memory of the Squib girl, sprawled on the ground, and it hadn’t been his fault, he hadn’t understood then. Her death shouldn’t-  _ didn’t _ mean anything. A squib had no worth beyond what they could give to their magical brethren. Like the boy. They had nothing. They  _ were _ nothing.

Except... there was  _ something _ , some reason Credence could do what he could not.

His vision wasn't wrong. The boy is the key. But that cowering fear in him is dangerous.

Here, together in a wizard speak-easy, the boy could have a taste of the world that he’d never have, and it will be enough. It will push him past that fear, and he will find the child, regardless of that witless No-Maj mother of his. Desire is a powerful thing, a lesson Graves learnt long ago. Desire breeds loyalty, the kind hard won otherwise. 

With a wave of his wand, food appeared before their table. The boy’s eyes widen, something both reverent and fearful flickering in his downcast eyes. A twisted desire. Credence’s desire will give Graves a power that will make him unstoppable.

"Eat up," he says, letting this pleasing thought curl his mouth and warm his eyes. He nods pointedly to the pie, glad that Credence won't meet his eyes, can't see the smirk that no doubt lights his face. "It's good, though, I…  _ adjusted _ it a little. Now it’s the best steak-and-kidney pie you’ll ever have had. You'll find no better, not in this city." He winks, his own little joke, but the boy pays it no mind, though he relaxes, as though any food Graves’ has conjured will be fine.

Credence nods, obediently scooping up his fork. The nervousness has faded, the tremor all but gone from his hands. The search will go smoothly now, easier, and Graves leans back in his seat, watching the boy eat with an indulgent smile. Such a trusting little muggle, so ready to place faith in him. And why not? Percival Graves had been so kind, to come to the aid of that little Squib boy all those years ago, weeping at the hands of his muggle bitch mother. An easy an entry point as he could have asked for.

Soon, he will be done with this city. Once the Obscurus is in his hands, they'll go west, or perhaps south. The MACUSA has been, at least, enlightening, the rebellions of his kind in this country that could not be squashed, the magic woven through song flowed freely in the streets of Louisiana, the skin walkers that prowled the lands in Colorado - outside the borders of the cities, the magical community refused to bow down. They would welcome his call to revolution, eager to dominate the filth that would see them hide, as if they were lesser, beholden to the whims of the weak that multiplied like flies. Soon, the muggles, the  _ no-majs _ , would remember their place, on their knees in front of the might of their magic,  _ his _ magic.

Credence glanced up from his meal, drawing Graves from his reverie. Their eyes met, and immediately the boy dropped his gaze, all but baring his throat. It was this, perhaps that made him bother with kindness with the boy. Here was the correct attitude all muggles should have, and this Squib, born of magic but none of his own, he knew his place. Perhaps, when this was over, he would be kept, a sweet little pet, a reward for his deeds.

Graves’ smile was a dark thing, full of heady promise, smile widening, pleased when he saw the boy's neck flush under his benevolent gaze.

When this was done, when the Obscurus was found, he would shed this skin like a snake, stand before Credence and make him watch as he peeled off that borrowed face. What would the boy do? Would he weep, perhaps, break brittle sharp and bear his pretty throat in submission once more. Or perhaps at last the kicked dog might bite back, might rage and despair at his deceit?

Behind the stolen face of Percival Graves, Grindelwald smiles. It mattered not. In the end, the boy would kneel like the rest of his kind, receive only what  _ he _ permitted.

Credence finishes his meal, placing his knife and fork down without a word, eyes lowered. This time, when Graves offers his hand, the boy took it without hesitation, letting Grindelwald pull him close, wrap an arm around his shoulders and disapparate back to the alley with a crack.

Such a trusting little muggle, so sweet a thing.

There had been love in Percival Graves, a tender feeling for that little Squib boy he’d rescued years ago. It was a shame, to take the life of a wizard, but it had been sacrificed for Grindelwald's cause, and for that he was grateful; for that he would grant Graves' wish, just as he had promised the boy - Graves and Credence would be together forever.

He wondered if the boy could taste the real Graves in that pie.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Countessrivers pointing out that Jacob Kowalski's actor Dan Fogler was also in Hannibal.  
> The pie is people.


End file.
